"Collar," said Mr. Jobson, briefly. "Can I 'ave it took off while I eat
my bloater, mother?"

"Don't be silly, Alf," said his wife. "Gladys, pour your father out a
nice, strong, Pot cup o' tea, and don't forget that the train starts at
ha' past ten."

"It'll start all right when it sees me," observed Mr. Jobson, squinting
down at his trousers.

Mother and children, delighted with the success of their scheme, laughed
applause, and Mr. Jobson somewhat gratified at the success of his retort,
sat down and attacked his breakfast. A short clay pipe, smoked as a
digestive, was impounded by the watchful Mrs. Jobson the moment he had
finished it.

"He'd smoke it along the street if I didn't," she declared.

"And why not?" demanded her husband--always do."

"Not in a top-'at," said Mrs. Jobson, shaking her head at him.

"Or a tail-coat," said Dorothy.

"One would spoil the other," said Gladys.

"I wish something would spoil the hat," said Mr. Jobson, wistfully.
"It's no good; I must smoke, mother."